I Can Make it Stop
by beurownhero
Summary: Sherlock offers Dean drugs to make the pain stop. He accepts. Sam and John aren't thrilled to say the least. Rated T for drug use and profanity. Now complete.
1. Suggestions

"I can make it stop you know," Sherlock said.

Dean jerked. He hadn't heard the other man enter the room. _Dangerous, _he berated himself, _focus. _He turned slowly, his face a mask of calm, "What?" he implored the consulting detective.

"I said, I can make it stop," Sherlock repeated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean said turning back around to dismiss him. _Maybe_ _if I keep my back to him he won't be able to do that creepy thing where he reads your entire history in your clothing._

"But you do Dean, you do. You put on this smile like armor and it fools everybody." a pause, "but I'm not everybody." Dean half wanted to slug the pompous bastard.

"You don't know what you're talking about", Dean snarled

"Oh please," Sherlock scoffed, "you don't hide it that well. The pain. Your strained relationship with your brother. Your guilt. Your fear. The things you try to drown in a bottle of Jack."

Dean didn't bother to give a response. He continued to steadfastly ignore him with his examination out the darkened window, but Sherlock heard everything he needed to in the hunter's changing posture. "I get it. Sometimes there's too much. A never-ending deluge of _feelings_," he snarled the last word. "I've learned to cope. John wouldn't approve. He'd kill me if he knew actually, but he doesn't always understand. How can him. He's so _normal._ It's just something to take the edge off faster than a bottle of whiskey. Something to shut the emotions down; make the voices stop. Make things go quiet; calm. The relief is instant. Incredible. The high glorious, and the nothingness that follows, divine"

Dean had turned around to appraise the detective sometime during his speech, looking him up and down in attempt to judge his sincerity. He was about to open his mouth and agree when Sherlock interrupted him, "Great, perfect. I knew you'd be up for it. This is going to be so much fun"


	2. The Follow Through

Sherlock looked up from the two syringes he had just prepped, "Do you know what you're doing"

"I know my way around needles if that what you're asking," Dean retorted, "been diagnosing and treating Sam and myself since I was six. Believe me. I got this."

Sherlock nodded, as he handed one of the needles over to Dean. He had figured out that much; he had just asked to make sure. He had set up two syringes. One for himself, and a smaller dose for Dean. He watched Dean inject himself _perfect, of course_, before following seconds later into the anticipated bliss.

"Damn," Dean smiled as the drugs hit his system, "that was fast"

"Intravenous injection provides the greatest intensity and most rapid onset of euphoria. The typical reaction time is between 7 and 8 seconds"

"yeah, okay WebMD"

"What?" Sherlock asked, quirking his head. _Dean is like a walking talking book of references to things I do not understand_ – the thought flitted out of his mind before he had the chance to fully process it.

"Nothing. Just… shut up", Dean said sinking down unto the floor,

"Eloquent" Sherlock couldn't help but respond. Even with the heroin running strongly through his veins, he couldn't help but question the other man's speech.

"this is fucking marvelous"

"Indeed" Sherlock allowed, taking his usual place on the couch, hands folded beneath his chin, legs sprawled up over the armrest, eyes trained on the ceiling. He took a few calming breaths. "Indeed".

Both of them sat there. Silently. Their eyes fixed on the nothing before them. Enjoying the reprieve of the drugs and the scenarios their minds provided for them. Their bodies feeling wonderfully and incredibly numb. All outside sensors tuned out. All nagging voices silenced. All self-loathing evaporated. Just nothingness; beautiful, incredible, perfect nothingness.

For the first time since Dean could remember, he was not full of guilt, or painful memories, or hurt. Dean's last coherent thought before everything turned to swirls was _this. This is awesome._

* * *

><p>thank-you for reading. I think this will end up being 5 chapters (maybe 6). I have the end written... i just have to get us there. Reviews, comments, and criticisms are love. This is my first Sherlock story, and i've only written 3 or 4 for Supernatural, so feedback helps! 3<p> 


	3. Busted

sorry this took so long, i really struggled getting this on paper. I am still not sure how I feel about it, so any feedback is appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.

* * *

><p>An hour or so later Sherlock was broken out of his trance by the sound of two sets of footsteps making their way up the 17 steps. John's he recognized instantaneously, even and firm, subconsciously stepping over the squeaky step. The almost silent footsteps behind him undoubtedly belonged to Sam<em>. He sure is quiet for someone of his size. Nimble. Sure. And sure enough, followed John's lead in missing the squeaky stair. Interesting.<em> Sherlock still wasn't done being intrigued by these two. As the door to the flat swung open these musings were instantly replaced with a new thought, _busted._

"Sherlock, Dean, I hope you haven't kill- what the bloody HELL Sherlock?!" That was John. _He had caught on then. That was fast. _"YOU HAVE BEEN CLEAN FOR THREE YEARS"

Sherlock hummed non-committedly. He'd have to hope John continued to believe that.

"Where's Dean?", Sam inquired from his place by the door. He had obviously not wanted to interfere with his and John's dispute. "He is here, isn't he?"

There was no reply.

"Sherlock, Sam asked you a question. And I am about 2 seconds from throttling you, so I suggest you answer it". He was still furious, but he had, consciously or not, moved into Doctor mode as he checked Sherlock's temperature and pulse while berating him.

"Dean? Floating maybe?"

"What? Sherlock. That doesn't make any sense. Focus"

Sherlock's eyes wandered blindly around the room for a moment before settling on the lump over by the TV. _I'm high and yet I still see more than they do_

"Dean's here. Sleeping. Use your eyes. Seriously, John. Sam, you're better than that."

As the first words came out of his mouth, Sam was already in motion, into the room and around the couch. His eyes finding Dean in less than a second. "No." he breathed. "No, no, no, no, no, no"

Sherlock vaguely wondered if Sam knew he was repeating himself. He opened his mouth to ask John, but John was up as soon as he had heard Sam's mantra. His anger at Sherlock immediately being replaced by concern for the hunter. "Fuck".

In seconds, Sam and John had Dean in the recovery position, both taking his vitals and attempting to rouse him. They weren't having any success. Frustrated, Sam slapped him across the face, "goddamn it Dean, wake up." Nothing. "Please Dean, please" he gripped his shirt and gave him a shake.

He got a moan in response. "Dean, open your eyes." Another groan. Then he vomited. And that is when Sam lost his cool. He was oscillating between furious and scared out of his mind and it was rendering him almost completely useless as he struggled to keep Dean from choking on his own vomit.

John tentatively put his hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping to prevent the impending eruption. "I got this Sam. Just sit back a second". Sam nodded but didn't move. He vaguely processed that at some point John must have left the room to get his medical bag. _Ah, right, he's a doctor. Handy._ John waited patiently for a few seconds, then realizing Sam wasn't going to move away from his brother, created a space for himself alongside the brothers so he could work.

Minutes later Dean was more coherent. "Sam?" he slurred

"Yeah, Dean, I'm here"

"That's good. I'm here too."

"Yeah Dean…You're an idiot you know that"

"I'm Awe…awed…awesome" Dean countered, his words horribly slurred as he struggled to string multiple syllables together.

"no Dean! You are not awesome! You are an idiot! You almost _died._ Do you get that? If we had come home any later…" he stopped as his emotions started to overtake him. John laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sam took a breath, nodding. John stood and retreated to where Sherlock was on the couch hoping to give the brothers a moment.

"Sammy, you don't understand. It.. it was… it's like 20 orgasms. At once. Throughout your ENTIRE body. It's awesome"

"Shut up Dean"

"But Sam, it, it…"

"You are an incoherent mess. You have puke on your shirt, and you scared the living shit out of us. We're changing you. You're going to bed. And we're having a long talk in the morning, so just. shut. Up."

"You're no fun Sammy"

"Shut up dean"

"Always the good boy Sammy, Sam, Sam Sammy Sam"

Sam huffed under his breath _never could shut up, could you Dean?_


	4. Guilt and Blame

Sam has settled against the wall, keeping vigilant watch over his brother. Stroking his hand through his hair almost absently – an action John _knows_ would never be tolerated if the older Winchester were conscious. Even though the words aren't meant for him, John hears Sam alternating between berating his brother for his "goddamn stupidity" and pleading with him to take better care of himself and his body.

John himself has settled in his usual armchair, eyes trained on Sherlock. Watching his chest rise and fall - albeit a little too slowly – was comforting. He can't help but blame himself for the turn of events. _Why didn't I notice it was a danger night? How didn't I even know there were drugs in the flat. I'm his best friend and a _doctor_ for Christ's sakes. Why Sherlock? Why? Why?_

John finally breaks the silence that has settled over the flat since their companions passed out in their respective places. "I'm so sorry Sam. I didn't think he would ever do this. It's not like him to talk to anyone. Let alone to offer them his goddamn_ illegal_ drugs."

"yeah, well, I'm not sure 'illegal' means much to either of them"

John snorts.

He gets up to make them both a cup of tea, speaking over his shoulder as he works. "I'm still sorry though Sam. Sherlock, he… he's had problems for years. I should have watched closer. Been more vigilant. I thought we were passed all this. And I never thought he would drag dean into his addiction"

Sam sighs. "it's not your fault John. Dean's been treading the slippery slope for years. Drowning his sorrows in women and alcohol and violence. It was only a matter of time until it came to this." _I should have been the one who saw it coming_ he thinks to himself, _I should have been the one to stop this foolishness, not John._

He nods his thanks as John hands him a fresh brewed cup of tea. Taking a sip, he continues, "In fact, the only reason he's probably been clean up til now is lack of access. If it was in front of him, he would have been shooting up years ago."

John just nods silently, offering comfort in his silent presence. As the silence drags on, they both settle in as comfortably as possible to watch over their respective charges.

* * *

><p>I am going to post chapter 5 now as well. Feedback is always welcome (positive or negative)<p> 


	5. The Morning After

The morning came far too early.

"where do you think you're going?!" Sam demanded, moving from his crumpled position on the floor. _When had the two idiots gotten up and dressed?_ He peered around. John was awake too. No doubt used to keeping an eye on his housemate with no sleep. _Damn._

"To the yard Sam. Get some sleep. God knows you didn't get any last night watching over us like a pair of hawks"

"that's not true," Sam started to protest

"actually it is," Sherlock stated. "you are still wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday, indicating that you never even had the chance to go into the other room to change. You both have dark circles under your eyes, and John is drinking coffee instead of tea because he can barely keep his eyes open ."

Sam just blinks.

"Do you ever get used to that?"

John grins into his cup, "no. not really. And when he's not being a complete and total arse, it's kind of endearing."

Sherlock and Dean turn to go.

"Wait one minute. I did not say you could leave!" Sam yelled as he moved to place himself between Sherlock and Dean and the door.

"What, we grounded?" scoffed Dean

Sam huffed. "Yeah, as a matter of fact you are. Or house-arrest. Or whatever. We're coming with you. Yard or no yard – I don't trust you right now"

"Lestrade would never allow us within 100 meters of his crime scene if we were high" Sherlock stated blandly.

"Yeah, well, Lestrade won't let you within 100 meters of his crime scene if he knew about your extra-curricular activities from last night. We're coming with you. End of discussion" John commented.

"but…"

"End of discussion. Or I text Lestrade, and you're off the case. Probably off all cases for the next month."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed, but he put his coat down. John knew Sherlock would never admit it out loud, but he had won. "Give us ten minutes, and we'll all leave together", he called over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs to change clothes.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>I hope you enjoyed that double installment. I know they were short, so I wanted to give you two to make it worth your time. I am hiking 91 miles of the Appalachian Trail starting on Sunday. it'll be a 10 day trip, so i'll try and finish this for you and post Saturday night... if not, sorry but you're going to have to wait a bit.<p>

Thanks for sticking with me through this!


	6. Discussions

_Sorry for making you wait so long for this! (if anyone cares, my AT hike was fabulous!) Enjoy this last chapter. I'm going to post an epilogue as well._

_characters, etc. all belong to their creators and writers. _

* * *

><p>The case was over. Once accepting that there were non-human explanations for something, Sherlock had solved it in under five minutes. Dean and Sam had taken care of it, and everyone told Lestrade that it was better off if he just let it go and accept that the streets of London were safe once again from this particular threat. All in all, it had turned out relatively simple and worked out well.<p>

The conversation between Sam and Dean and John and Sherlock however had not been as simple. Ranging from screaming and shouting to exasperated pleading the "talk" as both Dean and Sherlock liked to call it, had been far from easy. Fists were thrown, tears were shed, and everyone felt a little guilty, a little bruised, and a little exposed by the time it was all over.

Two hours after "the talk" had ended, tension was still in the air as Dean and Sam prepared to take their leave from 221B and London. Sam and John understood their need for escape, for release. Dean and Sherlock understood the other two's concern. There was talk about rehab, and coping, and admitting your problems, and moving forward. But everyone needed time to process, to heal, to forgive, to trust again. Sam shook hands with Sherlock, gave a quick hug to John, picked up his bags, and turned to watch Dean dejectedly do the same. Sam sighed. _This was going to be a long flight._

Dean turned to Sherlock first. After the last 24 hours he couldn't say he didn't feel bonded to the man, but he still wasn't sure if he liked him. Sherlock nodded. Dean figured this was his way of saying he understood, and that the feeling was mutual. A formal goodbye didn't seem necessary. So, he cautiously turned to John. _This man has every right to hate me._ John surprised him by moving in for the quick hug. As Dean stepped away, John caught his arm, made eye contact and slipped something into his pocket. "you need this" was his only explanation as he stepped away. Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to read the Doctor, but he didn't ask. Across the room he saw Sherlock's eyes light up in understanding, when he raised his eyebrows in question, Sherlock merely nodded his approval.

Sam witnessed all of this, but didn't ask. He trusted John and he wasn't going to interfere. He cleared his throat, "if we're going to make this flight, we need to go"

Dean groaned.

"Goodbye John. Goodbye Sherlock. Perhaps we'll see you again"

"I hope not" was Sherlock's reply.

"You have my number" was John's.


	7. Epilogue

4 days and 16 hours after their flight left London, Sam saw the antidepressants sitting in Dean's bathroom. He never said a word

7 weeks and 2 days after their flight left London, Sam noticed a distinct change in Dean's demeanor. He decided not to comment.

5 months, 1 week, and 6 days after their flight left London, John Watson got a text from an unknown American number asking if it was possible for him to send more of his parting gift over since it had really helped, but it was running out.

5 months, 2 weeks and 3 days after their flight left London, John Watson received a second text from a different American number. This one only had two words. _Thank you._

* * *

><p><em>Thank-you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. I feel as though I got slightly better at this as I was going. Sorry for any rough patches. All mistakes are mine. As always, the characters aren't mine and reviews  criticisms are lovely._


End file.
